Walking Dead
by the ersatz diplomat
Summary: "Don't ask me how I knew she'd be there. I'm still not sure, myself." From Harry's perspective, set between 'Back in Black' and 'Unfinished Business.'


_The Dresden Files/Codex Alera is copyright Jim Butcher. This story is licensed under the Creative Commons as derivative, noncommercial fiction._

Written for the Not-So-Bleak Midwinter Drabblethon, Prompt #11 – photograph of sunset over footprints in snow. I somehow forgot that this was on my drive. Oops.

This story is kind of a segue between_ Back in Black_ and _Unfinished Business,_ from Harry's perspective.

_And it's bringing me to you_

—'_Space Junk,' Wang Chung  
_

* * *

It's easy to get lost if you don't know where you're going. Doubly so in Faerie.

Lucky for me, I have a thorough and extensive map literally at my fingertips, more accurate and reliable than any global-positioning thingy you can steal from RadioShack. And a lot cooler, like my own personal Hitchhiker's Guide to the Nevernever, complete with snarky commentary.

I didn't need it for this trip, though, having spent the past few weeks memorizing the route I needed to take. I could have walked it in my sleep.

It took some negotiation with my new employer, but she had to turn me loose on the unsuspecting public at some point, right? Might as well be today. The fact that it was one year to the day since someone tried to have himself assassinated, well, I guess that can be the icing on the metaphorical cake.

I didn't look back when I left Arctis Tor. Maybe I'm paranoid, but it sounded like Mab was laughing.

I walked out of her fortress and into the depths of Winter, following a river that had been flash-frozen, whitewater solidified into razor-sharp peaks, and hoped that the grotesque faces I saw within were just products of an overactive imagination.

At the base of a towering pine I stepped from one dimension to another. I hiked a mile across an Icelandic glacier that glowed violet and radioactive-green beneath the aurora borealis to a cliff of black granite. Another Way brought me twenty-five yards through a cavern littered with odd, glassy bones to a crystal formation with a pentacle carved into it. Fifteen dangerous steps took me through the catacombs beneath Paris, where the gaping, empty eyes of skulls peered out from the walls.

I moved fast. It's easy to travel light when you can carry everything you own in your pockets.

The next Way opened, with the smell of dust and old paper, into the basement archives of the Seattle Public Library in a corridor between high, narrow shelves lit by bare and flickering bulbs. I followed them to what seemed like an endless row of old-fashioned card catalog drawers, dodging stacked pillars of books until I found what I was looking for on a peeling label.

_Ord—Oss. _A star had been scratched into the center of the second _O_.

Almost there.

With a word and a gesture, I tore another hole in the fabric of reality and stepped out into the shadow of a mausoleum in Graceland Cemetery.

Chicago.

I drew in a deep breath of rain-washed pavement, exhaust and the peppery smells of fall, almost knocked off my feet by an unrelenting flood of memories. It staggered me, drove me back against the cold, damp marble of the tomb and stayed that way, reliving a thousand tiny moments all at once until the tears subsided and I could breathe again.

There was nothing left to do but keep walking.

My steps were silent beneath the growl of an autumn thunderstorm and I was as invisible as all the other shades lingering within the walls of the cemetery. Hell, I had been one of 'em, not too long ago. The sun was setting beneath the clouds, throwing ghostly shadows across my path. It might have been a trick of the light, but I thought I saw the statue of Inez wink at me as I passed. Cold anger quickened my steps, along with a breathless sort of anticipation.

Don't ask me how I knew she'd be there. I'm still not sure, myself.

I heard her before I saw her and stopped, because she's been in the business long enough – knows to shoot first and interrogate later. She looked smaller than ever, rain-dampened and huddled beneath a Cubbies jacket, sitting next to an open grave and a tombstone with my name on it, and she talked to me as if I was standing there.

I was, but she didn't know it. And I knew I should have left.

But I couldn't.

I've been played for a fool before, though, and I knew that the real Karrin Murphy would never forgive me if I didn't make damn sure. I had a pretty good idea of what I would See, but it didn't make it hurt any less. I looked for a long time. Not many people can say they've seen their guardian angels.

Mine had her work cut out for her from the start.

* * *

thanks for reading


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